


Pokè Nine-Nine

by terpsichoreanpowers



Category: Homestuck, Pokemon
Genre: Homestuck Pokémon fusion, M/M, Multi, the pokémon buddy cop AU no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 09:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8573884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terpsichoreanpowers/pseuds/terpsichoreanpowers
Summary: International Police Detective Dirk Strider may have left his old life behind looking for something more meaningful and just a little more exciting, but he wasn't exactly expecting to find anything like that in a sleepy small town in the podunk ass of nowhere, or indeed in said town's resident wildcard Jake English. The last thing he needs is a partner no one can control, but that's what he's got, and now the two of them have to work together to solve the crime of the century- one with a link to both their pasts.





	1. Cold Open

You get the phone call in the middle of an op.

  
It scares the mickey out of poor Happy, your infernape, who gives you a look that's chock-a-Block with reproach as he hoots reprovingly at you.

  
Can't blame him, poor chap.

  
Poor Happy's been out in the rain and the wet and isn't very well, happy about it. Surveillance started yesterday morning and you still haven't moved in and you're both a little worn by the waiting.

You're sure he'd rather be in his nice, dry pokèball like most of the rest of your team, but the policy is you have to have a pokèmon spotting in case of emergency and he's the only one of you with any tree-sense besides yourself.

  
You give him an apologetic look and motion for him to keep his eyes peeled on the poaching camp a few clicks south of your location that is your target for the evening. His eyes are keener than yours, so you flip your headset up and tap your com to take the call.

  
You don't bother looking down at your read-out to check who it is; there's only two people in the world who have your private line, and one of them is dead.

  
"English," you say. There's a pause on the phone- probably the man the other end of the line taking a drag of one of his god-awful cigars- and then:

"Hey Kid."

  
You roll your eyes.

  
Being well into your twenties and still being addressed in the same manner as when you were were just a sprog leaves a hell of a taste in the mouth, but that's an issue for another day you suppose.

  
"I'm sort of in the middle of something old boy," you say hooking your knees on the tree branch you are currently perching on and swinging so your weight hangs upside-down to avoid your infernape's agitated leaping from branch to branch. "I do hope this is important."

  
It must be for him to be calling, but it's part of your little ritual to pretend to be put out. In truth you're a little bored and very restless, and now that you're on the phone Happy thinks he has a free pass to sass about, lucky you.

  
"There's always somethin wit’ you kid," you hear your caller sigh, "But this ain't a social-call, there's been an accident at one of the labs, pretty big one, gonna need a PR team."

  
Shucks-darn, of all the rotten luck!

  
"Anyone injured?" you ask a tad sharply. Something in your tone further agitates Happy and he leaps back onto your branch and curls his tail around your torso. You pat at it distractedly and make a “gimme” motion at your pack which he hands to you without question.

  
"Nah, we got a few nerds in the hospital, but nothing fatal, I put the pokemon who responded to the scene on your tab, like always." he replies. It's a terrible bother to rummage through your pack upside-down, but you manage to extract your computer and start it up searching on the news sites for anything the old man might not be telling you.

  
"Good," you say, "What's the damage report then?" He pauses again, but this time you can hear the definite sounds of shifting paper as he looks through his notes.

  
"Nothing we can't handle," he says, "Clean up's underway, I got a gag-order already in place on the press- we're waiting on the ground crew there to give us the media spin- all that's left is you."

  
" _Me_?" you snort.

  
"Jake," he says using your name to tell you he's not going to give an inch in whatever he's about to say.

 

"Slick," you reply back semi-mockingly. The old boy sighs like he'd strangle you if you were within reach and you grin even though you know he can't see you.

 

You don't intend to make this easy for him, but he knows that, he's known you since you were four after all.

  
"You gotta come in, shake a few hands, spout the party-line: science and adventure and all that bullshit, make sure the nerds are happy," he says sternly, "There's just been an accident, they'll want to see you."

  
"They'll want to beg me for more of gran's money you mean," you say wryly, squirming away from Happy, who's swung down to mimic you and is tickling at your ribs with his free foot.

  
"It's your money now kid," Slick says, though gently for his standards.

  
You're grateful for the extra care.

  
He knew gran even longer than you did and her loss is still an ache felt keenly between the ribs, she's always been sort of the ghostly glue between you.

  
Well, that and her millions.

  
Slick's on the books as the family attorney, though he's more of a jack-of-all trades and handles everything but the press these days, that falls on you, though more often it falls to anyone you can find to fill in for you.

  
"I'm really just full-up right now old chap," you wheedle, "Perhaps-"

  
"This is non-negotiable kid," he cuts in sharply, "You wrap up your save-the-wailord racket and come straight home, you got me?" There must be something else, something he doesn't want to tell you over the phone for him to be so insistent.

  
He's a suspicious old goat to be sure, but he's always had your family's interests at whatever passes for a heart in attorneys.

  
"Alright Spades," you sigh, using your gran's old nickname for him to let him know you're reading between the lines loud-and-clear. "I really do have to go though mate, you're holding up the line. We could be getting a strike order any moment now."

  
"God, what is it this time?" he sighs, "Drug lords? Terrorists?"

  
"Poachers," you laugh.

  
"Bastards," you hear him smirk down the the line, "Give 'em hell kid, we need you here by Friday, so try not to get roasted or shot or tazed or whatever-the-fuck else between now and then." Friday is three days away, that doesn't exactly leave you very much time to wrap up here.

  
"Goodbye Slick," you chuckle, not making any promises. "We'll be in touch soon."

  
"Yeah, yeah, pet the beast for me," he replies, "Later kid." He hangs up and you're left to calming sounds of the jungle and Happy's curious chirps.

  
He cocks his head at you inquisitively and you stick your tongue out at him in answer.

  
"Don't worry mate," you say, answering the question you suppose he must be asking. "It's nothing." You grin and he bares his fangs at you, mimicking your expression.

  
He offers you his paw and you grasp it firmly, letting your knees go slack and sliding off the branch.

  
Your infernape waits until you're fully right-side up before swinging you gently towards a branch that will bare your combined weights and leaps down after you.

  
You scratch him under the chin in thanks and tip your headset back down to watch the poachers load up more and more pokèmon into their boats.

  
They take them God knows where from here, but that stops today.

  
"Base two, this is English requesting permission to engage hostiles," you say turning on your com to the open channel. "The party's about to leave without us chums, and we're all dressed up to dance."

  
"English, this is Base Two," comes the swift reply, "We're still waiting on Intel from Standfelt and Ramirez. Do not engage hostiles, we repeat, do not engage, the threat level is still undetermined at this time."

  
Well, bollocks to that, you have places to be!

  
"Sorry Base Two we didn't quite catch that," you lie smoothly, "Reception's a bit dodgy- dense jungle and all that- sounded a bit like you said 'engage hostiles', roger that. Proceeding to Hostile Camp, wish us luck."

  
"Jake-" someone starts to say, but you click your com off and give your infernape a thumbs up.

  
He takes off towards the camp like a shot and you leap from your perch, heading towards the ground at frightful speed.

  
A massive, shadowy shape comes tearing into view and takes a running jump, catching you on its back long before you're in any real danger of falling to your doom.

  
You grin and bury your face into the thick ruff of fur at her neck, enjoying the wood smoke-and-ash smell of her that reminds you of the lifetime you've spent together, always side by side.

  
"Hello Moira my girl," you say as she lands delicately and shakes the wet out of her stripes. She's been waiting patiently for you and you can feel how ready she is to be done with this. "Slick sent you a pat."

  
You thump on her neck as per Slick's request and she growls playfully in answer.

  
"Yes, yes that was nice of him. Now, we need to catch up with Happy," you tell her, "Quick as you can love, we're on the clock." She growls again and races into the underbrush following the scent of your infernape towards the enemy camp.

  
Happy's had a bit of a head start, but you're not worried. You'll overtake him here soon enough.

  
Nothing outpaces an Arcanine after all.

  
The rhythm of Moira's movements are as familiar as breathing and you settle yourself on her back and ready your other pokèmon.

  
The poachers are about to get a rather nasty surprise and you suspect this will get rather hairy.

  
It's going to be hell when you're done here and have to report to Central Command for refusing to follow orders, you'll be lucky if you make it home in time to deal with whatever Slick's got waiting for you back at home.

  
You grin, imagining the look on his face, and spot the familiar shape of Happy in the distance already engaging a pack of mightyena and the odd houndoom.

  
Seems there's more poachers than you thought there were. Blast.

  
Oh, well you think as you release Looksy from his pokèball and nudge Moira with your thighs to let her know she's free to breath fire as soon she can.

  
Just another day on the job really.

 

\----------

 

The first calls comes in right in the middle of an explosion.

  
The blast stuns you and leaves your ears ringing.

  
It's no pokémon, that was definitely a fucking bomb. The rest of the guys at interpol are gonna be so pissed they missed out on this.

  
You pick yourself carefully up off the ground checking for any injuries, and pat at your ruined suit to make sure all your pokèballs are still where they should be.

  
Call number one goes to voicemail and you barely even notice.

  
The screaming's already started, so has the general mayhem and fuckery that usually follows an explosion of this nature, but you're focused on the back of some masked goon you catch fleeing the scene out of the corner of your eye.

  
You're not on the clock, and you should probably help steer these civilians away from from all this debris, but this suit was a gift and brand fucking new, so fuck it.

  
You're in pursuit.

  
You stagger to your feet and take off after the jackass who planted the bomb overtaking them by the elevators.

  
The look on their face is priceless, and you're just about ready to spew off the party line when you hear a laugh and whip around to see another thug just behind you with a gengar chuckling on the ceiling in front of them.

  
**Fuck**.

  
You should've known it wasn't gonna be an easy arrest, when has anything ever gone textbook for you?

  
Call number two comes in as you’re ducking out of the way of a shadow ball aimed straight for your fucking head.

  
"Out of the way," says goon two. You scowl and plant your feet more firmly, trying to figure out if it would be best to draw the gun you have stashed away or go straight for a battle.

  
There's one last surprise in the form of a crowbat you didn't notice behind goon number one who suddenly screams and heads straight towards you.

  
Call three comes and goes while you're ducking for your life again.

  
You grab two pokèballs on instinct and launch them and the pokémon who emerge close ranks around you. The goons take one look at the more impressive of the two and swear.

  
Her tails fan out and flame in front of you, keeping you safe out of sight and she bristles her fur to its full extent so that it sparks off little embers.

  
She roars, ears back and fangs bared aggressively, and the enemy pokémon falter, rightfully nervous.

  
Nothing is scary like a pissed off ninetales is scary.

  
Your other pokémon takes quick stock of the clusterfuck and heads straight for the gengar.

  
It doesn't give it time to think before it zooms over and slams straight into it, giving you some space. The terrorist seems shocked, and then angry and you draw your gun before they have any ideas about your backup.

  
There's a tense moment and then there's lots of buzzing and a chirp and the goons look confused for a second and glance down at their flashing phones.

You don't really bother.

  
It's Hal.

  
Of course it's Hal.

  
One of the goons looks freaked the fuck out and holds their phone up for you to see the messages scrawled there.

 

TT: show the nice police officer your phone asshole

  
TT: you could thank us for the save bro

  
You close your eyes.

  
The biggest regret of your life was coding this fucking porygon you swear to god.

  
“Thanks for doing your one fucking job.” you sigh, “It's not like it's what you're designed to do it or anything.” Hal zips around your head and the phones all go off again.

  
TT: you're welcome.

  
TT: it seems you have incoming call. It's Jane. Are you just going to keep ignoring it or-?

  
FUCK.

  
Why is it that these days you never have time for your best friend?

  
“Deal with it.” you snap, “And stop hassling the fucking terrorists you dick, I'm trying to make an arrest.”

  
There's a thudding coming from down the hall, human footsteps, and you hear ‘Freeze! Police!’.

  
Human backup has arrived.

  
The idea of sudden and imminent arrest trumps the surrealism of having a porygon hack their phone and goon number two swears and shoots off into the stairwell you didn't notice was right behind them just as three general officers skid onto the scene.

  
"Sasha!" you say to your ninetales, “After him! Hal, you too!” Your pokémon give chase immediately and the officers hesitate for less than a second before following them.

  
They race up the stairwell after the terrorist and you are left with your gun and the other bomber who takes advantage of the sudden chaos to shove past you and head for the hall.

  
Nope. Not today asshole.

  
You take off after him expecting him to head for the doors and try to lose you in the crush of hysterical debutants and bystanders who are fleeing the fire and general shitshow of the scene.

  
You keep a bead on him and do your best to keep up as he moves into a lot behind an old alley.

  
"Police!" you shout as you catch him up, "Stop where you are and put your hands up!"

  
The goon whips around and fires a gun you didn't know they had on them. You close your eyes and brace for the impact of the bullet, but feel a rumble instead as Thales breaks out of his pokèball and stops the bullet dead in its tracks.

  
Fuck yeah, disobedient Pokèmon:1, Dirk and associated bad guys: 0.

  
The bomber takes one look at your growling lucario and wisely decides that a 'yeah, fuck this noise' is in order.

  
They empty their clip, cursing when Thales swats away the bullets, and throws the gun aside to dive into the car they have stashed in the lot.

  
They gun it and Thales barks in alarm and moves you out of the way just in time to avoid becoming really fashionable roadkill.

  
"Thanks for the save," you say, shakily once the car's peeled out and you and him are safely in the clear, "I've got to catch them though, find the others and catch us up." Thales butts his head into your navel and you rub his ears in gratitude before you both take off, you down the street and him to the roof to keep track of the situation.

  
You pull out Ember's pokèball as you run and he bursts out ready to fucking party, as usual.

  
"Car!" you say as he rears up and stamps to feel out the terrain. "He's moving fast we gotta go, hustle!" Em doesn't even let you finish before he's trotting at your side and using his head to try to nudge you on without having to stop.

  
You love your pokès man, they're always 0 to 60 in a half a second and ready to do whatever.

  
You catch your hand hand on his horn and he hauls you up onto his back and breaks into a full gallop.

  
Out on the highway at a sprint a rapidash in Ember’s form and condition could easily outpace a car, but this is the city, and there's cars and people and all manner of other shit in his way.

  
That doesn't stop your boy from getting you your results though; he catches up with the car just as soon as he can and you pat his sweaty neck in encouragement and urge him to keep at it and stay with it as it turns wildly in the streets and does its best to dodge the other mounted officers and police cars that have joined you in pursuit.

  
Em puts on an extra burst of speed at your urging and gets level with the driver's side window.

  
"Pull over asshole!" you shout at the prick, who goes white as a ghost when he sees you keeping pace with his ride.

You don't know why he's so surprised. It's going to take a lot more than a shitty getaway car to keep you from doing your fucking job.

  
Ember's apparently had enough of the car because he uses everything he's got left to surge up to get ahead of it and tries to veer it off course with a well-placed tongue of flame.

  
Goon get-away driver is obviously used to this police tactic and drifts the car to stay clear of your pokèmon's attack before reaching over towards the glove compartment and pulling out another gun.

  
"Whoa," you say, tugging on Em's neck, slowing him up just in time to avoid a bullet. The goon floors the car and peels away from you and Ember slows all the way to a trot, winded from his sprint.

  
He's all in and you can't ask him to push anymore, it just wouldn't be safe.

  
Damn.

  
You almost had the prick!

  
You hear a distant, coughing bark and look up to see Thales racing along on all-fours over the rooftops with Sasha and the king asshole himself.

  
They've found you.

  
You put your hand up in the 'to me' command and Thales leaps down and races over cocking his head expectantly.

  
The car's still in your sight and poor Ember blows and kicks like he wants to charge after it. He hates to disappoint you. You pat him on the neck and gentle him and quickly assess the possibility of success on what you're about to do.

  
"One shot bro," you say pulling up your cuff to reveal your bracelet. "Let's do this." You are never going to get over how humbling and incredible and weird as hell mega-evolution is, and how quickly it overtakes your pokèmon. Thales leaps clear of you and Ember and the officers around you swear and break away in alarm.

  
"Get him!" you say and that's all Thales needs to hear to unleash utter hell.

  
It's a fairly standard arrest after that; though you're pretty sure you're going to be held accountable for the damage to the street.

  
You finally have time to take that call and are unsurprised to find a half-dozen progressively grumpier messages when you finally find your pokédex.

  
“Detective Strider speaking,” you say, trying to keep it professional.

  
“Don't you ‘Detective Strider’ me buster,” Jane growls down the line. “And what’ve I told you about letting your porygon field your darned calls?”

  
“I was busy,” you say defensively.

  
“You're always busy Dirk.”

  
“This is a business line chief inspector,” you remind her, rolling your eyes. “What can I do for you?”

  
“There's been an explosion at Skianet labs,” Jane says, suddenly serious.

  
Well _Shit_.

  
“You're kidding,” you say, reaching for Sasha who's come over to demand praise and pets for her heroics. “I'm in Kalos and there's been two here too.”

  
“It's happening everywhere- there's concerns it's a new gang calling card maybe. I'm assembling a task-force, I need you to come in.”

  
Wow.

  
That's kind of badass.

 

Your department was technically created to monitor and control gang violence in the associated regions, but that doesn't mean you actually get to do it very often.

  
“Okay,” you say, quickly, “I'm there, what’s step one boss?”

  
There's a long pause.

  
“Janey?” you prompt.

  
“Skia’s giving a press conference on the situation and we're going to touch base with local law enforcement before we move in.” she says, carefully.

  
“Okay,” you say slowly, “Where?”

  
“...Castelia City.”

  
Oh.

  
**Oh**.

  
God _DAMNIT_.

  
“Dirk?”

  
“Yeah, I'm here,” you sigh, “Gimme a minute to wrap up here and I'll be there.”

  
“The conference’s on Friday,” Jane says quickly, before you get a chance to duck out or change your mind. “Call me when you're at the airport. I'll send a car.”

  
“Don't bother,” you laugh.

  
Your bro and his boyfriend can probably psychically sense you're on your way home.

  
If not the actual psychics in your family _DEFINITELY_ can.

  
“I appreciate you,” Jane says, and at least she does sound sheepish for the hell you're about to go through.

  
“Yeah, whatever, it's fine,” you sigh, “I gotta go, my prodigal return awaits and all.” You say goodbye and wave over Hal who’s pestering the shit out of the confused and probably terrified mounted officers and their pokémon.

  
“Book us a flight home,” you say, “Jane's got a new case for us.”

  
Your ‘dex chirps and you glance down.

  
TT: Done. First class bro, we leave in two hours.

  
Great. That gives you less than an hour to pack up after processing here and no sleep at all before you face your bro and the firing squad.

  
You sigh and set about the monumental task of coaxing Hal and Sasha back into their pokèballs.

  
It's just another day on the job really.


	2. Flashback: twenty years ago

It's nine AM and you're getting your shit kicked in by a screechy broad with an umbrella.

  
Well, not really- she's a gentle girl at heart and these little love taps are more to piss you off and inconvenience the hell out of you than hurt at all, but still.

  
"-Said you be there! I was so _EMBARRASSED_ you JERK!-" you can hear her shrieking over the flappy ridiculousness of her ugly-ass umbrella.

  
This is getting damn annoying.

  
"I said I wouldn't be able to make it-" you shout, trying to keep your shades from getting knocked off under the steady barrage, "My little brother had an appointment and-"

"Oh your little brother had an appointment," she says, and fuck, here come the waterworks again. "He's always got an appointment! What about **us**! I posted this to _Twitter_ you asshole!"

Yep.

You're done.

"Terezi," you wheeze as your soon-to-be-Ex gets smart with her umbrella and starts to aim for your stomach, "Do something."

Your lawyer is just standing there grinning like the bloodthirsty animal she is.

She cackles and brings her cane up to parry the next blow and you duck away to safety on the other side of the coffee table.

Thank fuck.

"Alright Princess," Terezi coos, "I think he gets it- he's inconsiderate scum. Let's discuss the particulars of your case in the kitchen shall we?"

She taps her way towards your kitchen with her on her arm and you collapse on your couch with a groan.

Fuck.

Your.

Life.

You hide out in the den until you hear the tell-tale slam of your front door and wait for TZ to make her way back and give you the damage report.

"Congratulations," she says, grinning like a maniac and spreading her hands out, "Signs point to your being a free man."

Well-

You figured as much.

You're relieved as all hell and you know that probably makes you an asshole, but whatever, you're a single asshole and that's what counts.

"This was your idea," you sigh, watching her collapse into the chair across from yours and reach into her jacket for her cigarettes because she's a cruel, cruel bitch.

You quit two weeks ago and the pediatrician says it's got to fucking stick.

God damn it.

"I know it was my idea," Terezi says, "I was clearly overestimating your ability to act like a grown man about this and not an under-socialized skitty, but that's on me."

She points her cane over your shoulder and cocks her head.

"Speaking of-" she grins, "You know it's very rude to eavesdrop don't you?"

You turn your head and spot a familiar tiny figure ducking away in the door frame.

Fuck.

"The prosecution asks the members of the court not to panic," Terezi grins, "But my trainer senses tell me there's a wild jolteon loose in the room; Strider hand me my bag, quick."

  
Said wild “jolteon” shuffles his way into the room, guilty and mulish.

  
He's got his huge prescription beerbottle glasses on and he's looking kind of beat to hell this morning.

  
Fuck.

  
Another bad night then.

  
He gives Terezi a wide berth and edges around the room until he feels safe in your shadow and then frowns at her.

  
“M’not a pokémon,” he pouts.

  
“Are you sure?” she heckles him. “There’s strong evidence that points to the contrary.”

  
“M’not! and nobody's s’posed to smoke in here anymore,” he mumbles. “Your actions...um, oh! Your actions pose a threat to a valuable witness.”

  
Terezi pulls down her shades and winks at him.

  
“Said danger is duly noted,” she cackles, “In that case the court will adjourn for a brief recess while the witness is served his breakfast.”

  
She gets up and heads to the balcony to fight the murkrows in residence there for a spot to smoke.

  
Your little brother lets her ruin whatever the hell he's doing to his hair recently on her way out though, so you know there's no hard feelings.

  
He still waits until he hears the glass door click shut to relax though.

  
“Why’s she always so weird?” he mumbles.

  
You've known her more than half your damn life and you have no fucking clue.

  
You love her, but sometimes you'd swear she's from another fucking planet.

  
“I don't know lil pimp,” you say, opening your arms to let him crawl into your lap, “They must've dropped her on her head a whole lot in badass lawyer school. How you feeling today? You want some breakfast?”

  
Your little brother cautiously creeps his way over to your chair and you make the extra effort to draw him up and in before he can second guess himself and go for a plain fistbump instead.

  
He's almost six now and insists he's getting too old for cuddles.

  
A fucking shame really since he's on a weird baby grown-up kick these days and that's made him kind of stupid adorable; you’re trying really hard to take him as seriously as he’s taking himself, but it's a struggle.

  
“Who was that at the door?” he asks, letting you get up and take him the kitchen. “Was it that lady?”

  
You wince a little at his careful tone.

  
You don't like that he's still trying to be careful.

  
“Yeah lil man,” you say, setting him down on the kitchen island. “But you knew that already because you were eavesdropping- don't play cute.”

  
He decides to drop the act.

  
“I don't like her,” he says, pouting and drawing his legs up, “She talks too loud and she smells like a cheap spritzee farm.”

  
You hide your grin in the fridge while you open it to grab the shit his nutritionist recommends he drinks with all his meals for the time being.

  
He's such a little shit sometimes.

  
You love it more than you should.

  
“Yeah? Well then good news, turns out your big bro’s fucked up again and she's not coming back,” you say, grabbing a carton of eggs while you're still in the fridge, “Your bro’s single again. How ‘bout some scrambled eggs to celebrate?”

  
Your baby bro considers the news and picks at the legs of his pink and purple My Little Ponyta pajamas.

  
“Yeah,” he says after a minute, “Okay, make some for Terezi too.”

  
Score.

  
You get to work making the little guy some chow before his appetite shrivels up and you're forced to beg to get him to eat.

  
He chatters about some documentary he’s found while you cook and for a second he’s more like his old self and you're both smiling, getting ready to face getting your shit wrecked over the course of the rest of the day.

  
“-and Attenborough says they can super heat the water around them and cause whirlpools!” you catch him saying, “That's badass right? They're s’posed to be kind of rare though- Does Terezi have a kingdra?”

  
“I don't think so,” you hum, getting out some plates, “Here she is now, you can ask her yourself.”

  
Terezi wanders into the kitchen and your bro pounces on her.

  
“You're a dragon trainer right?”

  
“Of course.”

  
“Do you have a kingdra? Is it true they make whirlpools at the bottom of the ocean?”

  
“My sister has one, and yes, they have been known to cause localized weather phenomena.”

 

“ _Cool_. Are they hard to train?”

  
You serve them their eggs and leave them to it, heading towards your room to grab a shower and change for the day.

  
If you're honest with yourself you're a little bit hurt by your brother’s new naturalist kick.

  
Once upon a time he thought what you did and who you were was the coolest shit ever.

  
Nowadays it's pokémon.

  
He's got a lot of obnoxious, kind of obsessive interests, but for once in his life he's managed to find something you're not all that interested in and it's this whole Pokémon Training deal.

  
Terezi is filling in for you as his badass super cool hero and you're glad he has someone’s ear to talk off.

  
But you kind of miss when it was yours.

  
You pick out a suit and head back towards the kitchen to where you hear Terezi explaining the finer points to some battle strategy her and her sister use when doing some pokémon thing or other and clear your throat to get their attention.

  
Terezi probably heard when you shut your door, but Dirk startles and looks over at you.

  
His whole face shuts down the moment he takes in your suit and you close your eyes behind your shades and brace yourself for whatever it is that's about to happen.

  
“Are you ready to leave then?” Terezi says, blunt and casual as ever, “I’ll have them bring the car around.” She reaches for Dirk again, but he ducks under her hand this time and jumps clear off the island and scurries to his room.

  
He slams his door so hard you hear a couple of your murkrows squawk in panic and take off from the balcony.

  
You put your head in your hands and groan.

  
“It's going all going so well, don't you think?” Terezi says dryly.

  
You groan harder.

  
Honestly Dirk’s been having tantrums since before he could talk, back when his genius little brain wasn't quite caught up with his basic baby motor functions all he could do to voice his frustrations with the world at large was scream his fool little head off at all hours and bring hell down on both your heads in the form of paternal asskicking.

  
Nowadays nobody ninjas out of the ceiling to drop-kick you in the chest about it or threatens to call CPS about the door slamming so really, you're in a better place about this than you have been for years.

  
You should be used to this, really, you should.

  
“Can we flip a coin?” you whine into your hands, “Or phone a friend maybe? It's not even noon.”

  
“You know I love a good coin toss as much as the next person, but he's your problem,” Terezi says at once, “I'll be in the car.” She’s got tougher skin than you and so Dirk's tantrums don't shred her up as much as they do you, but that doesn't mean she likes them, and she's gotten fond of playing good cop to your constant bad these days.

  
“Yeah okay,” you sigh, “You know what, fuck it. Just go the office, find me a coffee- I'll grab a cab.”

  
She nods and claps you on the back as she beats her strategic retreat.

  
You don't blame her in the slightest.

  
But you're pretty fucking jealous.

  
You head to Dirk's room and hover like an ass for a solid two minutes outside before opening the door.

  
Before, when you lived at the old place, and even before then, when you'd lived in the Old Place, you'd always made sure the little guy had a room to himself to grow into the ten kinds of fucked up weirdness you figure are his due after the hellacious battlefield you'd inadvertently made his early childhood, what with the running away and the constant custody battles and all the rest of the fucked up shit that's now finally behind you, thank fuck.

  
When you'd managed to get yourself out of the part of town people liked to pretend wasn't happening and into the regular bad part of town, he'd upgraded from some dubiously code legal attic space to a room with a door and window, and now that you're stupid fucking rich and live in a hotel like a shitty sitcom parody he's been upgraded again to a room that's probably bigger than your entire old apartment.

  
He hates it.

  
He couldn't be more obvious about that if he wanted to be.

  
It's been four months and he hasn't even asked you to unpack his old toys, they're still sitting in boxes by the suitcase he's left passive-aggressively open by the door and you practically brain yourself tripping over the mess of it all when you head inside.

  
“I didn't say you could come in,” he mutters from where he's very diligently ignoring you on his computer.

  
He's got his blankets piled on and the humongous fuck-off ponyta plushies you bought him to bribe him through the threshold of the door a while back after a bad stint of nightmares and you suddenly know he doesn't feel good.

  
You're probably going to have to cancel your plans for today.

  
Again.

  
“Oh sorry lil bro, you just took off and didn't say anything,” you say carefully, sitting down on the floor by his desk, “How was I s’posed to know I wasn't invited?”

  
He keeps typing and pretends to ignore you.  
You watch his tiny little hands going over the keyboard and wait him out.

  
“I had another bad dream,” he finally admits after maybe ten minutes of silence.

  
Yeah, no shit.

  
You kind of figured.

  
“Wanna talk about it?” you ask.

  
“You left for a meeting and you didn't come back,” he mumbles, “And I didn't have anywhere to be and Karkat had to take me to the home again.”

  
Wow.

  
W o w.

  
wow.

  
“You know I've left you like, all this stuff right man?” you say, “Remember last Christmas when Terezi had us over and I signed that cool piece of paper and we changed your name and all that?”  
He nods.

  
“Well, that paper means you're filthy fucking rich buddy, and you're going to stay rich even if I never come home ever again, and that means nobody’s ever going to take you to the home ever again. And Terezi’s in charge of it so you know it's going to stay safe like, forever. Besides- Vantas promised he'd chew his arm off before he took you anywhere else remember?”

  
Dirk snorts at that probably remembering the guy’s hilarious pseudo-tantrum at the courthouse.

  
“You're safe here,” you promise, “And I'm not going anywhere okay? It's just a move kiddo, it's not the end of the world okay?”

  
To Dirk, who's always had the run of the places you've lived- places being a generous term for some of them- this move probably feels like it, with all the cleaning staff and the bellmen looking after him and paps literally drooling at the doors all day watching for familiar faces and of course, the thought of real regular schooling looming around the corner, but he's a tough little shit, he's proven that again and again.

  
He can do this.

  
And you'll just fucking have to.

  
He scowls though and rubs tiredly at his eyes because the poor little guy must be exhausted, and you just feel awful about it all all over again.

  
“You want to come with me to watch Terezi scare the shit out of her interns?” you ask him, “Or do you just want to get a pizza later and finish your documentary?”

  
“I finished it already,” he sighs, and finally moves away from his desk to bite nervously at his hands. “Is Terezi mad at me?”

  
“Naw. She's a dragon,” you say comfortingly, pulling his hands away from his mouth, “You know that. It's takes more than that to hurt her feelings, bro.”

  
“Did she already leave?”

  
“Yep.”

  
He seems to be seriously deliberating on the idea and you decide to grease the wheel a little bit.

  
“She never gets to see you anymore and Latula might show up, or Vantas maybe who knows.”

  
“Karkat?”

  
Dirk visibly brightens at the idea and you struggle to keep a straight face.

  
To quote a popular Pokémon trainer phase:

  
Gotcha

  
“Yeah lil man, it's busy firm right, you never know,” you say, causally.

  
“I need to brush my hair,” he says, very seriously, “D’you know where I left my Fluttershy hair clip?”

  
\----

  
Twenty minutes later sees you both at the firm; Dirk in his sparkliest ponyta barrettes and last clean matching tutu/rain-boot combination, and you looking a lot less fly than he does even with your suit covered in orange sprinkles from the donut stop he insisted you guys hit up before stopping by.

  
“Strider,” Terezi grins at you from behind her massive power move fuck-off desk when you get there, “And Strider, to what does the court owe the honor of your presence?”

  
“The defendant would like to offer the prosecution a bribe.” Dirk says boldly, crawling up to sit at one of the big chairs she's got propped in front of her desk. “He's sorry about earlier and wants to um...strike it from the record?”

  
“A gutsy play.” Terezi cackles, “This is a professional establishment I'm running here though Strider, lots of high profile clients- we don't take just anything, Fiat justitia ruat cælum- and all that.”

  
“I brought donuts,” Dirk says solemnly, “They're cherry.”

  
“The prosecution moves to strike the earlier tantrum from the record.”

  
“Motion fucking sustained,” you sigh, relieved. “Now take your damn donuts, Pyrope.”

  
You spend a long, mostly painful day talking shop with Terezi while Dirk dicks around and terrorizes her staff.

  
Vantas doesn't make an appearance, but Latula shows up so the day’s not a total loss for him and she happily takes him off your hands to play video games at her place for a while so you can focus on bitching about your agent and shiny new ex.

  
“She left a letter taped to my door, can you believe that?” you grin, “Like, she comes in, hits me with an umbrella and then has the nerve to Dear John me on the way out.”

  
“She's a B-list starlet and you were supposed to be her meal ticket,” Terezi grins, “You can't exactly blame her for wanting to milk this for as long as she can- everyone loves a trashy breakup Dave, you know that.”

  
“Yeah that's why I figured I'd leave it up for a minute,” you admit, “See if some lucky pap gets a chance at it, it's the least I could do I guess.”

  
“What a gentleman,” Terezi purrs, “Speaking of, your agent called again twenty minutes ago about-”

  
And so it goes.

  
And goes.

  
Until finally it's almost five and you're fucking exhausted and you need to pick up your kid from your best friend’s big sister’s house before he decides he's going to live there with her forever.

  
“Send whoever my mixed regards,” Terezi says, waving you off when you stand to leave, “And don't take the overpass going home, it's not a good look for you today.”

  
You narrow your eyes at that.

  
“Do you know that or do you _Know_ that,” you ask suspiciously.

  
“Get out of my office Strider.” she grins.

  
You go and take back your car to pick up Dirk, and take the overpass just because you feel like being a dick only to have to call Latula when you're held up in traffic by what looks like the holy mother of all team pokémon battles on the I-60.

  
“How's it look dude?” she asks cheerfully when you drop the top to assess the battle.

  
“Uh, there's a feraligatr out there,” you say, shouting over the wind and the roaring, “And fuck if I know- looks like a fossil Pokémon- s’got bigass butterfree looking things on its head.”

  
“Yeeeah you better take the exit,” she chirps, “That’s going to be sick nasty bro.”

  
It's another hour through side streets to get to her house after that and you suddenly have a second wind and happily collect your kid thinking you might squeeze some therapy time in for him and deal with the other major problem that's been on your mind lately.

  
“Hey baby bro,” you say, when you walk inside, “Get your stuff, we’re going to the park today.”

  
You know most kids are excited by the idea, but Dirk only sighs like the whole thing is physically exhausting.

  
“Do we have to?”

  
\-----

  
You take the long way to the park to give your kid some time to brace himself.

  
Dirk is small compared to the other kids and content to play by himself in the corner with the stupid ponyta plush toy you got him when you moved across town and another kid’s discarded toy.  
None of the daycare crews make any move to acknowledge him.

  
He either doesn't notice or doesn't give a shit.

  
You feel that shitty parent-guilt creeping up your spine again.

  
You've been in the area for four months now, and Dirk seems to be settling in okay. It's been amazing to not have CPS up your ass any more- money will do that- and being able to get the kid anything he even kind-of wants makes all those years spent kissing ass and waking up wanting to eat glass totally worth it.

  
Development-wise you guess he's on the right track; he's gotten a little bigger and still seems healthy enough despite his colour-exclusive diet and his weird aversion to natural light.

  
He's still the little badass you had underfoot when your were working your ass off trying to get your shit off the ground: quiet, awkward, shy, and smarter than you, but you can't help but feel kind of worried.

  
Some part of you twists uncomfortably at the sight of him playing all alone in the corner while the other brats run wild around him.

  
In truth you think he's alone too often, when you're not with him he has no one to confide in, and you know kids are supposed to have buds.

  
Granted, YOU weren't exactly rolling in friends when you were his age, but you had more than your DS and the fucking doorman. Dirk seems to have like, none friends, zip, fucking nada.

  
That's got to be lonely.

  
You really need to do something about it.

  
Your first instinct is to go bug Terezi or, god forbid, your sister about it, but what would she say except to bring him here?

  
Kids are supposed to be naturally gregarious or whatever says his therapist, but your little guy hardly seems to notice they're there except to move further away from them.

  
You don't fucking get it. When you're alone he seems to have nothing BUT things to say, but you put him in a room with kids his own age and suddenly he's clammed up tighter than a Mormon on her prom night and you don't really know what to do.

  
You debate calling him over and telling him to socialize with somebody, but you suspect that would sort of defeat the purpose of this whole thing.  
You're still debating what to do when you see two of the little ankle-biters break off from the pack and approach your bro.

  
He keeps his face blank, big, sad eyes solemn and wary as they creep closer, and studies them with guarded interest.

  
The smaller one is a girl with a mean expression on her face you somehow just know means trouble, the taller one is a boy twice her age.

  
The little girl says something to your baby bro and he frowns but doesn't say shit back. She says something else and he shakes his head.

  
The boy laughs at him and moves to push him, but before you can even shout to intervene Dirk ducks down and sweeps his feet out on instinct and knocks him on his ass.  
Huh.

  
Guess he really did learn something in all those stupid karate classes he made you take him to.

  
The little shithead bully seems stunned.

  
Your bro barks something at him, showing a flash of his temper, and then beats a smart retreat up some mankeybars into a climbing structure none of the other kids are playing in.

  
The other two kids shout at him for a little while and then sulk and go back to join the others.

  
Dirk completely ignores them.

  
Yeeeeeeaaaaah.

  
This is fucked, mission failed.

  
You let your bro scamper around the jungle-gym to get some exercise before you have to leave him in the penthouse for a few hours and consider some alternatives to this mess.

  
Nothing else really comes to fucking mind.

  
You watch your little guy clamber onto the roof of the structure doing his best pachirisu impression instead. He's still got that fucking plushie and you watch him gesture animatedly at it, obviously talking to it.

  
That's fucking depressing.

  
You have GOT to get this kid a friend.

  
Still, he seems happy and distracted and is relatively safe on the roof so you decide to slip away for the moment to your car to make a few phone calls and set some dates.

  
You're restless after only twenty minutes and head back to the park feeling something is off.

  
It is.

  
A crowd is rapidly assembling around the back of a frantic, shouting woman.

  
The scene beyond her is fucking chaos; your bro is rolling on the ground fighting with the boy from earlier- snarling in fury and raining down blows while he screams in pain and struggles to get away.

  
_Holy fucking shit._

  
A big dude who could be the kid’s father or uncle is trying to pry him off, but Dirk keeps shrugging him off and just keeps going to town, pummeling his victim while the other parents try to call their own excited, bloodthirsty brats to heel.

  
“Someone do something!” the lady wails. She’s obviously the other kid’s mother and you curse under your breath for taking your eyes off your kid for even a moment.

  
You shove easily through the crowd and call sharply for Dirk to fucking quit that shit.

  
The little guy does immediately, but with obvious reluctance, and disengages from the other kid to stand rigidly by your side. He reaches automatically for your hand and you give it him.

  
It makes him relax the tight set of his tiny shoulders by a half inch, but his expression remains pissed and sullen.

  
“What the FUCK lil' dude?” you ask. Dirk looks for a minute like he's going to cry, but then he relaxes his expression into something more neutral.

  
It's like a fucking punch in the gut.

  
“I was playing and he came over to me,” he murmurs quietly so the others can’t hear. “He tried to take ‘Dash, he broke her.”

  
“What?” you ask, watching the crowd. They are staring at you suspiciously and whispering and pointing while the woman loudly and pointedly tries to soothe her wailing son.

  
“My ponyta,” Dirk says with the tiniest hitch in his voice, pointing down. You spot his ripped stuffed toy lying near the battlegrounds. It's been nearly split in two, as if two people had been clinging to opposite ends of it and pulling hard.

  
Son of a fucking _**FUCK**_.

  
You're about to promise him another toy, a bigger better, hopefully shithead bully proof one, but stop short when you see the other kid’s mother coming towards you.

  
“Is this your son?” she hisses, glaring at your bro while you mentally tear into her with your bare hands for her extra shitty parenting.

  
“Give or take a few details, yeah,” you say. The lady whirls on you with a look of utter disgust. She looks wealthy and affluent and strikes you as the sort of bitch who is used to looking down on others.

  
Welcome to your new neighborhood.

  
You're still a little surprised by how much you immediately dislike her.

  
“This little boy nearly broke my son's nose,” she sniffs, “I could sue for damages.” You keep your face blank and turn to look down at your bro. The other kid has come over to take his mom’s hand and you don’t miss the smug smirk of his bruised face.

  
"You need to get your fucking kid a muzzle, lady," you say, pissed, "You wanna talk damages? Your kid's like three times the size of mine! He split his lip and broke his toy. I'm sorry my kid shoved him down, but hey- maybe if he wasn't a ponyta-murdering bully he would'n't've gotten his ass kicked."

  
The lady looks shocked and the parents in the crowd murmur angrily.

  
Fuck this shit.

  
“Apologize for defending yourself from a kid twice your age lil man,” you command dryly.

  
“I’m sorry,” Dirk replies immediately though he looks anything but sorry. You nod at the woman.

  
“I'll have a talk with him about avoiding little jerks like junior over there in the future and I'll do you a solid and not send YOU the bill for any damages,” you say. “Raise better kids.”

  
The woman seems utterly dumbfounded anyone would call her out on her shitty son, but collects herself quickly.

  
She huffs and stalks off with her son in hand, muttering darkly about the delinquency of the neighbourhood and the crowd slowly disperses as their kids get bored and wander off to play again and their parents follow behind them still giving you filthy looks.

  
“C'mon,” you say to Dirk. "Let's go home." His lip wobbles and he hold his hands out to be picked up and even though he's getting way too big for it you bend down and scoop him up for a spoinky ride.

  
You carry him back to the car and head back to the penthouse. Dirk doesn’t say anything until the car door closes and then he bursts into angry tears.

  
He almost never cries and watching him do it makes you feel like a damn heel.

  
“I hate it here,” he sobs, “Why can’t we go back to the apartment?”

  
You think of him in the cold, run down room you'd set aside for him with its damp walls and the murkrows breaking in at all hours and the fucking raticate bites in the walls and shake your head firmly.

  
You won’t take him back there.

  
Not ever.

  
“You feel okay? You need to go to the hospital?” you ask, changing the topic back to the matter at hand.

  
"No."

  
"Do you want to get some ice for your lip?"

  
"No."

  
"Do you want to go to the store and pick out another toy?"

  
"No!"

  
You blow out a breath and look deep inside yourself for patience.

  
"What do you want then lil man?" you ask, tiredly.

  
Dirk scowls at you and retreats, curling into a ball in his seat to be alone.

  
You decide it's best to give him some space.

  
You're pretty sure that much attention will have exhausted him and sure enough when you park your car for the valets to check it and open the door to let him out a few minutes later you find him fast asleep.

  
You carry him to the elevator and then tuck him in bed when you get to your rooms.

  
Your whatever-the-hell's angry Dear John letter is still taped to the door and you bet the press had a fucking field day with that, but you couldn't give less of a fuck right now and just shoot a text to your agent to tell her to come get whatever shit she claims to have left in the apartment over the weekend.

  
It's not even dark, and you have a million other things you should be doing, but you fuck all of that too and head into your room to take a page out of the little man's book and catch a nap.

  
You wake up to a crash and what sounds like your roof caving in.

  
You jump up, heart in your throat, and run towards Dirk's room thinking this is finally it, the fourteen fucking locks on the door weren't enough and you're about to be robbed or it's fucking HIM-

  
But then you trip on a rug that costs more than a year's rent in your old place and hit your leather sofa with a violent crash and remember abruptly that you don't live at the old place anymore and anyone dumb enough to rob the place'd have to get through two private elevators and an army of fawning hotel staff because you're stupid filthy rich now.

  
You're stupid filthy rich now and you still don't 100% know your way around your new place in the dark.

  
"Bro?" you hear Dirk call from possibly the kitchen.

  
Fuckin'A, you're so glad he didn't see you just now.

  
"Yeah," you cough, picking yourself up from the floor, "Yeah I'm here little guy, what was that?"

  
You see a little circle of light appear on the flatscreen and follow it to the flashlight Dirk is holding in his hands.

  
He looks scared.

  
You don't blame him.

  
You get bad flashbacks about shit like this too.

  
You hold your hand out to him and he shuffles over to take it.

  
"It's coming from the kitchen," he whispers, "I was gonna check right but then-"

  
"Hey, shh, it's okay man," you say before he can beat himself about being the little kid he actually is, "It scared the shit out of me too, I was hiding behind the sofa and everything. C'mon, stay behind me and we'll go see what it is okay?"

  
You take the flashlight from him and settle him safely behind you.

  
It's a short walk to the kitchen which is dark and quiet except for the crunching, rustling, snuffling sound you can hear coming from behind the island.

  
Sounds like someone's helping themselves to your Doritos stash.

  
"Is it a zigzagoon?" Dirk whispers as you inch closer.

  
You're not sure, you have no idea if one could have gotten this far into the city, but you used to see them scampering around your neighborhoods when you lived at the old place, and from sounds you're hearing it has to be a pokèmon.

  
"We'll chase it to the balcony," you whisper back, deciding on a plan, "Whatever it is, we'll scare it outside and it can deal with the murkrows ‘till we can call a 'center to come get it. On the count of three you go turn on the lights and I'll come around the counter, okay?"

  
"Okay."

 

1-

  
You make sure Dirk safety by the lightswitch away from any potential danger.

2-

  
You creep up to the edge of the counter and reach for the katana you keep on display above the fruit bowl and brace yourself.

 

3-!

  
Dirk flips the switch and you duck around the counter with a shout ready to fight whatever's there.

  
You spot a dark shape and then hear the quick, neat little clicking of claws before whatever it is scrambles the hell away from you and heads straight towards Dirk, knocking him down and heading into the next room.

  
"Bro!" your baby bro says as you rush to follow the thing into the living room, "Wait!"

  
You lose sight of it under the table and Dirk scrambles over and shoves your head aside just as you spot an obnoxiously pink purse carrier half-overturned by a chair.

  
"Stop it!" he hisses, "I think you scared it!"

  
"Did you see what it was?" you ask.

  
"Yeah." he says, "It's not wild, I think it belongs to that lady. She had a purse-thing with her this morning remember?"

  
Did she?

  
Dirk's memory is a little better than yours and you were being hit with an umbrella so you're going to take his word on it.

  
He ducks down and crawls under the table.

  
"Hey," he murmurs, "We're sorry, we didn't mean to chase you around with a sword and scare you, we thought you were a zigzagoon."

  
The ugly pink pet carrier gives a loud rustle like whatever's inside it is pissed you would say such a thing. In the murky dark you can just make out the faintest glow and curl of smoke coming from inside.

  
"Yeah," Dirk says quickly with a tiny smile, "Sorry, we didn't know you were here is all, obviously you're not some gross dumpster diver."

  
The carrier rustles again and you get the weird feeling Dirk is actually having a conversation with the thing inside, like it can understand him.

  
"Why don't you come out?" he says, "We have pizza and stuff if you're hungry, or we can order you something from downstairs. You probably don't actually want Doritos right?"

  
There's a weird, watery sounding coo from inside the carrier.

  
Dirk clucks and holds his hand out to the door and slowly a dark tiny nose pokes out and starts to sniff at it.

  
Before long a shape flows out and settles into his lap and you hear it make a warbling hissing noise, almost like a purr.

  
"Wow," Dirk whispers, awed. "What are you supposed to be?"

  
The pokèmon in his lap is a deep, rich red, it's colour so dark it's like cherry wood, and it's got a bunch of coiled tails and big green eyes.

  
It looks fancy and expensive and you know they're not from anywhere around here. You wrack your brains for what they're called.

  
Where have you seen one of those before?

  
Dirk carefully puts his hand on it and it yawns and pushes its head into his arm with a happy sound.

  
They're really famous...

  
You should've paid more attention in bio-class.

  
"Vulpix!" you say, remembering a pbs documentary you saw a while back, "It's a vulpix, they're fire pokèmon and they turn into those big yellow things from Kanto."

  
"It's from Kanto?" Dirk mumbles, impressed and excited. "That's so badass." He's looking at it like it brings Christmas and his Birthday every year.

  
Shit, you forgot about his current fixation with weeb culture.

  
"Uh, I don't think this one is," you say carefully.

  
Dirk's not listening. He's too busy mumbling to the amazing ~ _Kantonese_ ~ pokèmon.

  
...crap

  
He carefully picks the thing up and after a false start or two manages to more or less drag it to his room.

  
It's surprisingly patient for how it's being lugged around and you can hear it cooing softly as Dirk completely ignores you and heads off.

  
"I have a big book on pokèmon," you can hear him saying to it, "And I have a computer now, so I can look for what you like to eat, don't worry."

  
Shit.

  
You're in trouble now.

  
You follow him to his room and watch him boot up his computer, explaining the process to the thing as he does it.

  
It's sitting up next to him with it's paws braced in his lap looking for all this world like it's listening, and you have to take in surreality of the scene for a moment before you can even think to talk.

  
“Dirk,” you say, clearing your throat, “It's kind of late buddy, you ought to be in bed.”

  
Dirk nods and keeps typing.

  
“Just a minute,” he says, distracted, “According to this you like fried tofu and red beans, that's so cool. Chef Manziel downstairs made me sushi once, I bet he can make some with this stuff for you.”

  
Hilariously the vulpix hones in to the word ‘sushi’ and it starts to make an obvious warbly begging noise.

  
You've been gone all day the thing really must be starving.

  
It's probably left a couple of presents somewhere in the apartment too, fuck.

  
“Can I call room service?” Dirk asks, turning in his chair to look at you. “Or go down to the lobby?”

  
“Okay,” you relent, “Fine, but-”

  
“-Cool.” Dirk cuts you off, racing towards the door and talking to the vulpix as it trots more sedately at his side. “You're the best bro! C’mon, let's go, the lobby’s kind of awesome, you'll like it.”

  
You hear the front door click shut and stare at it blankly.

  
That's the first time you think Dirk’s ever voiced a positive opinion about the hotel, and it's to a pokémon.

  
You shake your head and head back towards the den to wait for call from the hotel restaurant demanding to know why their Michelin star chef is being asked to make pokémon food.

  
It's been such a long day.

  
\----

  
The surrealism of your encounter doesn't end with a plate of sushi.

  
The next day you wake up late and have to leave for a meeting without showering or doing much more than brushing your teeth and peeking your head into your bro’s room to make sure he doesn't need anything.

  
You find him fast asleep with the vulpix curled up on his chest and the eerie shine off it's eyes in the dimness of the early morning takes years off your life.

  
Pokémon are so fucked up man.

  
Your baby brother almost never out sleeps you though, any REM cycle is a hard won battle and you leave him and the thing to it and head off.

  
By lunchtime you're bored to tears, but you still can't escape and you text the hotel to ring your kid and make him something to eat.

  
The text you get back is disturbing to say the least.

  
Apparently they'd gotten a text from you earlier asking for a car to take your kid shopping.

  
One you 100% did not fucking send, but now have to play off like you did.

  
You and your bro are going to have words about his impersonating you at some point.

  
You excuse yourself for a moment and head out to call the little ass and see where the hell he is.

  
He picks up on the first ring.

  
“Can I buy a pokèdex?” he asks, instead of saying ‘hello’ or apologizing for tricking the hotel staff and being a general pain in the ass.

  
This kid man.

  
“Why?” you sigh. “You have a phone, I just got it for you.”

  
“Yeah, but pokèdexes are connected to the trainer networks and they have the species indexes and way better gps and-”

  
“Aren't those things like, free?” you ask. “Just get a free one.”

  
“They’re free to registered trainers, yeah,” Dirk says, sighing like you're being stupid and trying his patience, “I'm not old enough yet, besides the state issued ones are crap.”

  
Ugh.

  
“Fine,” you grunt, “Whatever, it's your cash, just don't blow it all on one thing, it's s’posed to last you ‘til Festival. Where the hell are you anyways?”

  
“D-town pokémon center.”

  
“The mall one?”

  
“Yeah.”

  
That's only about a ten minute drive from you.

  
“Got somewhere you're going next?”

  
“Yeah, but not for a minute.”

  
“Cool. Wait there, we’ll grab lunch, okay?” You hang up and break for lunch and head over to the ‘center.

  
It's the second largest in the city, a sort of glitzy high-end pokémon resort/shopping center on top of the usual pokémon control offices and health and registration centers, and Dirk loves it there, he's made you take him a half-dozen times at least.

  
You have about a ten minute window to locate him before people notice you're there and the place becomes a paparazzi cluster fuck, but he knows that too and he's waiting in plain sight with Manny, his favorite chauffeur, and the fucking vulpix.

  
It and Dirk have had their nails painted and they're wearing matching diadems and little grooming bandanas and you have to stop and fish around for your Polaroid because he looks so damn pleased about it and it's adorable and you have to get a picture.

  
“Hey,” you say, waving for his attention and pointing to your camera, “Smile lil man!” He cheeses for the camera and clutches the vulpix like it's a plush toy and you snap the picture and grin.

  
Yeah, that one’s going on the mantle.

  
“We took a grooming class,” Dirk says excitedly. “Margot taught us. Remember her? She's the one with blue hair who likes your moves. She gave me some grooming clippers with stars on them, check it out.”

  
He digs in one of his bags and shows you a long, crazy looking pair of scissors and launches into the finer points of pokémon grooming and husbandry while you call around for reservations and find a place that'll let you bring the vulpix he won't let go of.

  
“What's all this stuff lil bro?” you ask as Manny loads bag after bag into your car.

  
“Oh, s’just stuff for her,” Dirk says patting the vulpix, “She needed a litter box and stuff, but I went ahead and just got everything they recommended and some toys and brushes and stuff too. Did you know the fur from the vulpix uncoat is harvested in Kanto to use in fireworks? It sparks like magnesium if it's brushed out without the right kind of combs.”

  
“It sheds fireworks?”

  
“Sort of I guess, yeah.”

  
Great.

  
That’s the least of your problems actually.

  
“Bro,” you say as carefully as you can, “You know that thing isn't like, mine right? She belongs to somebody.”

  
Dirk's answering scowl is thunderous.

  
“She doesn't even like her!” he snaps, and you can't tell who he's talking about, the pokémon or your ex. “Whatever, you're not going to throw her out right bro? She got left at our place and she needs a place to be. Striders don't leave people hanging right?”

  
It's the first time Dirk's ever called the new place anything but “the hotel” and you're so excited you just nod along.

  
“No way lil man, we sure as fuck don't,” you say, “It can crash at our place until it gets picked up, that's fine.”

  
He looks a little shifty about that, but before you can ask what's up he asks where you're going to eat and you're distracted into trying out restaurants on him.

  
You forget to ask what the guilty look was about.

  
It's a bad move on your part.

  
\------

  
By Tuesday you've more or less forgotten about the vulpix.

  
It's just Dirk’s shadow, just everywhere he is, a constant, more or less quiet presence and he seems pleased by the whole thing so you've let it go.

  
You've got about a hundred things you're juggling right now and you haven't seen your bed in what feels like a hundred fucking years and frankly it just falls out of your mind in the wake of all the shit that needs doing.

  
You're on the way to another meeting when you get a phone call.

  
It's Rose’s ring.

  
Dirk’s in the kitchen getting a soda and he freezes and looks over at you.

  
Your sister never calls.

  
Not unless some real shit is about to go down.

  
But it can't be-

  
He couldn't’ve-

  
Dirk looks utterly terrified and he clutches his suddenly snarling and protective vulpix like his life is ending.

  
You're pretty shaky yourself as you hit the speaker button.

  
“It's not HIM,” Rose says before you even say hello, “Everyone calm down.”

  
“Rose, God,” you hiss, as your little brother’s knees give out in relief and he and the vulpix turn into the world’s tiniest, furriest ball on the kitchen floor. “You scared us both to fucking death woman. What the fuck?”

  
“My sincere apologies brother dear,” she says, “But you'll know if that day ever comes, because we’ll be there, all of us here, if it ever does- that doesn't mean I don't have bad news however.”

  
Oh shit.

  
“What’s going on?”

  
“Dirk, I'm afraid the jig is up,” Rose says, calmly. “It's today.”

  
The relief on your kid’s face turns back into fear and then horror and he scrabbles to his room and slams the door.

  
What the fuck was that about?

  
“What the fuck was that about?” you ask.

  
The doorbell suddenly rings and your sister tells you not to answer it.

  
“At least for a few more minutes,” she explains, “Give him some time to figure out where to hide her.”

  
“Rose, what the hell is going on right now?” you ask. “Don't play the coy bitch please, I don't have time for your psychic bullshit today.”

  
“Don't be too angry with him, he's only five after all,” is all she says to that, “He's still learning he can trust us all to do what we say we’ll do. Call Karkat at six- forty and keep your head, don't worry, it's all going to be fine. Oh, and the package is for you, call it an early festival gift.”

  
She hangs up and you struggle with the urge to throw your phone.

  
Fucking psychics.

  
The doorbell is still ringing and you can't ignore it anymore and head over to see who the fuck it is.

  
It's some dudes you don't recognize.

  
“Uh,” you say, keeping the door more or less blocked. “Can I help you?”

  
“You have some nerve,” the one of the dudes snaps, shoving past you, “Sending those emails, sicking your horrible shark lawyers on us, my client has a right to her own things, one you clearly recognized before you retracted on it!”

  
Uh???

  
“I'm sorry,” you say, “Who the fuck are you?”

  
The guy gives you a flat look.

  
“I'm the attorney representing your ex and her agent,” he says, “We're here to collect her things.”

  
“Why the fuck does she need a lawyer for that?” you ask, “I told her she could get all her shit like four days ago.”

  
The men trade confused looks first with each other and then with you.

  
“You threatened to take us to court if we stepped within 500 feet of this building,” the other guy says, slowly, “The last time we tried to call your lawyer emailed our office asking for our legal information.”

  
“Wait? _TEREZI_?” you ask, “No she fucking didn't she would have said-”

  
Dirk.

  
It's got to be Dirk.

  
Oh fuck.

  
**FUCK**.

  
You're going to fucking kill him.

  
“Hey man, my bad, I'm sorry,” you say, “There's been a bit of a misunderstanding, go ahead, get whatever, and excuse me a minute.”

  
You leave them both gaping by the door and head to your little brother’s room.

  
He's hiding under his covers and your heart squeezes for a minute before you remember the shit he's just pulled and how fucking furious you are.

  
“Where is it?” you ask.

  
“Don't make her go,” you hear him mumble, “She hates it there, she wants to stay here, with me, she likes me better, don't let them take her.”

  
“God dammit Dirk,” you hiss, “Do have any idea what you've just done? The kind of shit we could get in? She's not ours bro, we can't keep her, and you can't keep fucking breaking into computers to get your fucking way!”

  
“ _I **never** get my way,_ ” he wails under the covers, “I had to come here and go see all those stupid shrinks and buy new clothes and go to that ugly stupid mean school and talk to the fucking asshole teachers there and I hate it and I'm not letting you take her someplace she hates too!”

  
“Dirk Strider I swear to fucking god-” you start to snarl, but there's a knock on the door.

  
“Mr Strider?”

  
Well shit.

  
You might as well have a fucking audience for this.

  
“Yeah, come in,” you sigh.

  
The two guys shuffle in, their arms full of clothes and toiletries and of course, the fucking pink carrier.

  
“We were wondering if you happen to have seen a uh, pokémon, one that was in this carrier?” the agent asks, “We have everything else we're pretty sure, but we've misplaced it and I've called the grooming salon where it's supposed to be boarding and it seems to have missed it's appointment, but the carrier is here so maybe?”

  
“Dirk where's the fucking vulpix?” you snap.

  
“I'm not telling!”

  
You close your eyes and lift your glasses to pinch the bridge of your nose.

  
You're so fucking tired.

  
“Did you bring the thing’s pokéball?” you ask the agent, “It's in this room somewhere, you'll have to recall it.”

  
“No!” Dirk says, springing up in panic, “Don't! You can't take her!”

  
The guys look nervous and kind of guilty and you do what you fucking have to.

  
“Give me the pokéball.” you sigh. Dirk looks at you in horror and the closet door suddenly bursts open and the vulpix comes charging out and heads straight over to him.

  
It stands between you and the bed and growls when the agent makes a move towards it.

  
You think it thinks your kid is scared and it's trying to protect him.

  
It honestly just about breaks your heart.

  
“Well, looks like we found it.” you say, dully. “Go ahead and get it.”

  
The vulpix snarls and bristles and snarls at the agent when it tries to go near.

  
It screams bloody murder when it sees it's pokéball.

  
It's recalled and Dirk completely shuts down and looks about as lifelike as a fucking doll.

  
It's just about the most horrible thing you've seen since the night your old man sued for fucking custody.

  
“I'm sorry about all this,” the agent says sheepishly as you and your bro walk him and his lawyer to the door. “I think I understand what's happened, we won't pursue any further action.”

  
“Just go,” Dirk says before you can say anything, “Get out, don't ever come back.”

  
There's a rumble and a flash of light and the vulpix is suddenly back and it tries to slink back towards Dirk’s room.

  
It hisses viciously at the agent when he offers it it's carrier and he sighs and recalls it back to its pokéball again.

  
“Stupid ungrateful little-” he grumbles under his breath before he realizes you can all hear him. “We're leaving, have a good rest of your day.”

  
You shut the door behind them and brace yourself for what's about to happen.

  
Dirk doesn't pitch a huge fit, he doesn't cry, he doesn't do anything but look at you.

  
“Look bro-” you start to say, but he doesn't let you, he just turns and heads back to his room.

  
“You're just like HIM,” he spits before he shuts his door.

  
You don't know what to do with that.

  
It's-

  
God it's-

  
Hours pass. You stand it the hallway and stare at Dirk's door.

  
At some point your phone rings and you hurl out across the room and it shatters to pieces on the opposite wall.

  
You're just so fucking done with shit for the day.

  
Eventually there's a quiet knock on the door.

  
You're startled and go and open it, but it's only one of the hotel staff with a package.

  
There's a new phone inside, a postcard from Kanto with a weird statue on it of the evolved form of vulpix, and Rose’s loopy scrawl on the back:

  
  
_YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO.  
  
IT'LL BE ALRIGHT. CALL KARKAT IN TEN._

_  
LOVE ALWAYS- RL_

 

  
Well. That's pretty self explanatory.

  
Fucking psychics.

 

  
\----

 

General Peacekeeper Karkat Vantas is by all rights an officer of the law and not a babysitter and he's probably not actually all that child-safe besides, but he's easy to find and he can holler ‘ _fuck you and the mom you rode in on_ ’ clear over a crowd and in about a half-dozen languages and your baby brother's clearly as impressed by that as you are given his cute little kid crush.

He's also got a huge soft spot for you and the little man.

  
Which means when you call he's at your door in ten minutes.

"This better be a fucking emergency Strider," he hisses when you let him into the apartment, "No one has time to nurture your fucking self-loathing neuroses at all hours of the day. Not even you have that kind of money."

 

"I need you to watch Dirk for me," you say, before he really gets himself going, "Just for an hour- I promise it's super important. He's just- he shouldn't be alone right now."

  
“You do realise I'm just starting my day off right?” Vantas sighs, folding his arms. “Like my one day of peace and fucking quiet before dealing with the pissy, anfractuous whims of civil service and the howling mareep-dicking mouthbreathers we call our constituents again?”

  
“I'll pay you whatever man,” you whisper desperately, “Just for an hour okay?”

  
“Why the fuck can't Terezi do it?” he snarls, “She's the person you've voluntarily left him to in the event of your no doubt grossly over-publicised death isn't she?”

  
“Because she's in bed with the enemy right now,” you sigh, “We’re personas non grata man, the little guy’s room is a no fly zone, all Dave-shaped objects and allied flights will be shot down with extreme fucking prejudice-”

  
“Alright, I get it,” Vantas huffs, “The kid’s mad at you and now you're panicking.”

  
“I'm not panicking.”

  
“Strider, you literally called the _police_.”

  
“...okay yeah, maybe I did.”

  
He looks more amused than upset, and you watch him head towards Dirk’s room.

  
“Let’s see what the damage is,” he says as you trail awkwardly behind him.

  
He knocks on the door and when he's met with stony silence he rolls his eyes and barges in.

  
Dirk’s covered in blankets and looks like he was halfway towards the door, but the minute he spots Vantas he stops cold.

  
For the second time in less than a week his face screws up and he rushes towards him with a sob.

  
Vantas is caught off guard, but he rallies like a fucking champ and scoops him up into a hug.

  
Dirk whimpers into his uniform and Vantas soothes him and rubs his hand over his back.

  
He looks at you in confused panic over his head and you grimace and shake your head.

  
You don't want to go back into it.

  
“Are you here to help us again?” Dirk sniffs, “Is that why you're here?”

  
“I'm just here to watch you kid,” Vantas says, and your chest squeezes at how soft his voice always gets when he's talking to your kid, nothing like his usual growling, pissy, dealing-with-civilians voice. “Your brother called for back up.”

  
Dirk freezes and pulls away from him.

  
“What?” he asks.

  
You jump in so poor Vantas doesn't have to flail around for something to say.

  
“I'm leaving, I'm gonna talk to the lady,” you say, “Vantas is going to watch you for a minute, be good alright?”

  
He looks confused and then slowly it starts to set in what you're about to do.

  
“You're- you’re gonna bring her back?” he asks, and you can see the disbelieving tears in his eyes.

  
God, you're going to fucking try.

  
“I'm gonna do what I can, Dirk,” you promise, “Just sit tight, okay?”

  
He suddenly starts to sob.

  
“I'm sorry,” he blurts, “About what I said; and not just because of this bro, you're just not! You never could be I'm sorry I said that I was being a stupid jackass and-”

  
“Shhh, hey. It's okay baby bro,” you say, soothingly, “You were upset, I forgive you okay?”

  
He nods and cuddles back up to Vantas who pats him on the back and heads off with him towards the den.

  
He distracts him by making him pick a movie to watch and while he's deliberating over his selection he stealths over to you.

  
“That kid hasn't cried in forever,” he mutters softly so he can't overhear, “It’s like I’m gone a few weeks and it all goes to ashes and shit out here, what the hell’s going on?”

  
“I fucked up,” you sigh, “I'm trying to unfuck it up, but it's not that easy.”

  
Vantas looks you over.

  
“You look like shit,” he says gruffly and you laugh a little hysterically at his usual blunt assessment. “Seriously Strider, whatever’s happened, don't beat yourself up about it. You're doing your best and the job’s tough enough without your self- flagellative martyr complexes.”

  
“This is on me though,” you say tightly. “I made my kid cry, Vantas.”

  
“He cried when he was born too,” Vantas snorts, “But sometimes shit just has to happen.” He puts his hand on your arm and squeezes in comfort.

  
“It's okay Dave, take a deep breath, you're doing fine,” he reassures you, “I promise even if this ends tits up your kid’ll forgive you, whatever happens, he knows you tried.”

  
You close your eyes against the weird thing you feel in your chest at his words and take a deep breath.

  
“Thanks man,” you whisper, “You know I’d rather get this right though.”

  
“I know, but don't let it wreck you, you'll do shit-all without a clear head.”

  
He's right and you try and keep that in mind as you take another deep breath.

  
“I'll be back,” you say, “An hour tops.”

  
“He wants to watch Blue Planet, that's like three hours. Go do whatever,” he says, shaking his head, “Make it right. We’ll be here.”

  
\------

  
Your ex lives in a brownstone walk-up on a side of town that's now well below budget but ritzy enough that once upon a time you probably would've been escorted off the street for loitering, and she thankfully lives alone so you won't hear shitfrom your agent about nosy roommates this time.

  
“What are you doing here,” she sniffs, letting you in when she sees it's you at the door.

  
Everything in her house is spotless and pink and the bedazzled, eye-watering palette just adds to how tired you are.

  
“Look,” you say, “I'm sorry and I'm an ass and whatever the hell else you want to say, but I'm just going to cut to the chase: how much do you want for the vulpix?”

  
“What?” she asks.

  
“The vulpix, your vulpix- the one you forgot existed and left at my house for a whole weekend,” you sigh.

  
She seems confused by what you're asking and you try again.

  
“Your agent came pick up your shit at my house today, including a carrier with a Pokémon in it?”

  
“Oh. It was at your place? I thought I'd boarded it at the groomers,” she says, “What, did it pee on something? Do you want me to pay for damages?”

  
“No, I want to buy her off you.”

  
“What? No way! I just got it like a week ago, you're out of your mind!” She says, “That thing’s my baby Dave, what the hell?”

  
Uh huh.

  
Because you totally leave your baby at a groomers for a weekend.

  
“Look-”

  
“No, I know what this is about,” she says cutting you off, “You're mad about the letter and you're looking for an excuse to talk about it so you're here to complain about the vulpix or whatever to throw it all in my face.”

  
Oh for the love of-

  
“I don't really give a shit about the letter,” you hiss, “But you left that thing at my place and my brother got attached to it and I-”

  
“Oh. I see, it's about your brother. It's always about your brother with you isn't it? Well, looks like the kid’s just going to have to suck it up for once.” she spits, “He can't have MY vulpix, so there.”

  
Wow.

  
Okay, deep breaths.

  
“Please. He's really attached to it,” you try again. “I know you're pissed as hell, but you're sweet, and I know you're not about to take my being shitty out on a traumatized five year old.”

  
She huffs at that, but worries her lip.

  
“He does like pokèmon doesn't he?”

  
You're surprised she knows that.

  
“Yeah he does,” you murmur.

  
“They're really expensive,” she says, “Mine’s got papers and everything, I got it from a breeder in Johto and it was a pain in the ass.”

  
“I'll pay you back,” you promise, “I'll make it worth your while.”

  
She gives you a sad, small smile.

  
“You're a fucking train wreck you know that?” she laughs, “Everyone said- but I didn't listen and like, it was fun at first, all the parties and the premiers and everything, but you don't really give a shit about anything but yourself, and you'd totally deserve it if I kicked you out without giving you the vulpix, you know that right?”

  
“Yeah,” you say tightly, “I totally would.”

  
“You didn't even read my letter did you?”

  
It must show on your face because she laughs again and this time you hear the hitch of a sob in her voice.

  
“You're an asshole Dave Strider.” she sniffs.

  
Yeah, that's true enough.

  
She really didn't deserve this shit.

  
“I'll give it to the press,” you murmur, “You put all that effort into it, someone might as well read it right?”

  
She wipes her eyes.

  
“They'll eat you alive,” she promises, “I wasn't kind.”

  
You fucking bet.

  
Still though...

  
“You put up with a lot,” you shrug, “You deserve to milk a shitty break-up. Run with it- tell ‘em I cheated, tell ‘em I was shit in bed, whatever- get something out of it at least.”

  
“Did you?” she asks.

  
“Did I what?”

  
“Get anything out of it? Did I matter at all?”

  
“...I got a pokémon for my little brother.” you say quietly, “You made the most important person in my life really, really happy for the first time in years and I'll never forget it.”

  
It's such a shitty answer, but really she’s a sweet girl and she doesn't do anything but nod like she was expecting it.

  
“It's in the guest bedroom,” she sighs, “I’ll grab its paperwork and get the pokéball.”

  
\----

  
It's hours later that you get back to the hotel.

  
Vantas is dozing on the sofa and your heart flops weirdly in your chest at the sight of him curled up there under Dirk’s favourite yellow and pink ponyta blanket.

  
He looks so different when he's not shouting his fool head off.

  
He stirs when he hears your footsteps and squints over at the clock on your mantelpiece.

  
“That was quick,” he snorts.

  
You wince.

  
In the eleventh hour you'd decided to come clean about a few things to your ex and it'd taken longer than you'd expected.

  
“Sorry,” you whisper, hefting a pink carrier onto a nearby table. “I got caught up.”

  
He waves you off and stretches.

  
“You get it fixed?” he asks.

  
“I think so?”

  
The soft smile he gives you in response changes his whole face.

  
“I knew you would,” he says. “I put your kid to bed, it sounds like he had a long day, but you should wake him up; he's gonna want to see this.” He ducks his head to peek inside the carrier.

  
“So that's her, huh?” he asks, “Dirk’s vulpix. Do I even want to know what hell you've been through to get this thing back?”

  
“No.” you sigh.

  
He laughs softly under his breath and heads towards your door.

  
“Are you sure you don't want to just crash here?” you ask, “It's kind of late man.”

  
“It is,” he grunts, “Hellaciously, stupidly late, and that's why I want my own bed and not your hotel guest bedroom, no offense.”

  
He pats your arm on his way past you and you watch him collect his coat and a bunch of pictures Dirk drew for him while you were out.

  
He keeps them all; he's got a gallery of them decorating the fridge in his dinky little apartment- and knowing that always does something to you you can't really explain.

  
“Karkat-” you start to say.

  
“What?”

  
“Thanks man, for being there for us, for loving my kid so much.” you say, “It means a lot.”

  
He nods and lets you walk him to the door.

  
“Are you sure you're okay to drive?” you ask, “I can take you or call you a cab.”

  
“I'm fine Strider. Go celebrate your victory.”

 

You close the door, collect your hard won prize, and head to Dirk's room.

  
He's sound asleep and you have to knock on the doorframe to get him to stir.

  
He bolts upright and looks up at you, eyes wide with terror, and his beaming, relieved smile when you set the carrier down on his bed makes up for the shitshow you're going to face in morning.

He fumbles with the zipper and hugs the chirping vulpix to his chest with a sob. You feel a sense of deep satisfaction.

You're the fucking best bro, it's you.

“How'd you get her to give her up?,” he beams, “Hang on, I bet she's hungry.” He's obviously fucking delighted and babbles to you both about Vantas and the movie and his research into pokèmon care as he rummages through the supplies he'd bought to fix her something to eat.

“You want her to stay,” you say, already knowing the answer. "Don't you?" He nods fervently.

“Please bro? Please?” he pleads, “She won’t be any trouble! She can sleep in my room with me and I’ll teach her and take of her myself and-"

“Dirk,” you interrupt before he can get himself going, “The vulpix can stay, but she can’t become a distraction, and we can't have it out over it all the time, do you understand? You still have to try at school and get your shit straight okay?” His eyes widen and he nods again, hugging the poor pokèmon to his chest.

 

Her nostrils start to smoke and she makes a grumpy hissing sound, but she doesn't scratch the shit out of him or try to bite like she did with agent.

Huh.

 

You guess she really does like Dirk better.

 

Go figure.

 

“I promise she won’t,” he says. “Thanks bro!”

 

He spends the rest of the night talking to the thing, cooing compliments over her tails and her shiny coat and showing her around the house again.

 

You're a bit unnerved to see him so taken with anything, but you're pretty thrilled he seems to find the thing to be good company. At least it's alive and not a fucking toy, that's a step up; you'll call that progress.

 

Maybe now he won’t be so lonely when you're away.

 

“I knew my bro could save you,” you hear him murmuring sleepily to it hours later after you'd sent them to bed. “We’ll take great care of you, don’t worry.”

 

You think you have something in your eye.

 

"What are we going to call her?" you say, knocking on his doorframe to let him know you know he's up.

 

"Did that lady say what her name was?" he yawns, sitting up again.

 

The movement disturbs the vulpix who’s sleeping on his pillow and she starts up and jumps off the bed to poke and prowl around his room looking for danger or something.

 

"Her name's 'Empress' apparently," you snort.

 

Dirk frowns.

 

Yeah, it's a pretty shitty name for a pokèmon.

 

"You'd think she'd be better at naming stuff with how cool her name was," Dirk says.

 

You'd liked her name too, that was one of the deciding factors on why you said yes when she asked you out to be honest, and you vow to never make decisions based on cool given names ever again.

 

"Let's call just call HER Sasha then," you say, because fuck, that's what you should've done in the first place is just tucked the name away to use later instead of dating some poor socialite.

 

"Sasha," Dirk says, smiling as the vulpix finishes her inspection of his room and jumps back on his bed to curl up in his lap.

 

"Sasha." you repeat.

 

Dirk picks her up and cuddles her like a plush toy and she tolerates it with a sleepy wuffle of sound.

 

_Dirk and Sasha_ you think as you tuck them both into bed.

 

It has a hell of a ring to it.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd so please forgive any mistakes!! I have a cold and I feel p misreable but I wanted to get this chapter out. 
> 
> There'll be a few chapters like this interspersed between the main story, this is the first of them, sorry it's so long!! I hope you like them c:

**Author's Note:**

> Kelly look! I posted it!! ~ It begins ~ 
> 
> This is a self indulgent mess and I apologize, who doesn't love a good buddy cop movie right? 
> 
> Special thanks to Summer for looking this first bit over for me and extra special thanks to Jaboody for helping me not chicken out in posting it!  
> Please let me know what you think!


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